Riders on the Storm (Waiting for the Sun #2)

by Robin Hill

  While the guys clean up the cellar—including Jacob, who’s determined to find the spiders Darian mentioned—Jane bids me into the bedroom and closes the door.

  “I have something for you,” she says, handing me a twelve-inch square box wrapped in pink foil paper.

  I sit on the edge of the bed with the present on my lap. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “I didn’t get it. I made it, and it’s nothing fancy,” she says. “Just a little something I thought you could use here.”

  I tear off the wrapping in a single pull and open the box. Nestled inside a bed of tissue paper is a homemade book—a scrapbook.

  Emotion clogs my throat as I leaf through it. “Jane…”

  It’s a chronicle of our entire friendship, starting the moment we met the first day of fifth grade. It’s everything us. And it doesn’t take me long to realize it’s the most precious thing I own.

  “There’s space for more,” Jane says, flipping to the back of the book. “I know you have a new life now, one that’s far removed from me, so the end may not be as thick as the beginning.” She squeezes my hand. “But we’ll still fill the pages.”

  “This is…I don’t know what to say.” My voice breaks. “It must have taken you forever.”

  “I started it right after you left. Mom helped.” She laughs. “You know how I am with hot glue.”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, stopping on a picture of the two of us with my dad at graduation. My vision blurs with the memory. It’s been eight months since I lost him, and the wound still feels fresh.

  “That was the best day,” Jane says, smiling. “Graduating was cool and all, but Lauren Holloway falling off the stage was one of the single greatest moments of my life.” Her smile softens. “And your dad. God, he was so proud.”

  “Of both of us,” I say. Tears spill over my lashes and slide down my cheeks. I close the book quickly, both laughing and crying as I hold it away from me. “I’m going to ruin it before I even have a chance to look at it.”

  Jane smooths her hand over the cover. “I thought the same thing as I was making it, but Mom reminded me that tears only add character. If you look closely,” she says, “you’ll find a few of mine are already in there.” She grins. “Or we can just read it upside down.”

  So we lie back, and with the book suspended above us, we flip through the pages, laughter bursting from our lips as tears trickle from our eyes.

  “This is the best present,” I tell her.

  A soft knock comes at the door, followed by Darian’s voice. “Jacob’s beginning to pace out here. You guys about ready to hit the beach?”

  “We’ll be right out,” I say and then turn to Jane. “I’ll meet you down there.” She knows that’s code for I need some alone time, so she kisses my cheek and heads toward the door. “You have ten minutes,” she says, flashing her fingers at me. “Ten.”

  I take at least ten minutes to reapply my sunscreen and change out of my cutoffs and tank and into a conservative cover. And when I find Drew sitting alone at the island as I exit the bedroom, I know it will be even longer. He’s dressed in gray swim trunks and a plain white tee made of heavy cotton—something you’d find on a rack in a nice department store, not in a package on a shelf.

  “Got another one of those?” I ask, jutting my chin at the Corona he’s holding.

  His head whips around. “Yeah, here—”

  “Stay put. I’ve got it.” I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open with the cigarette lighter Darian used to light my candle.

  “Handy skill,” Drew says, smiling.

  I sit on the barstool beside him and we clink bottles. “Hiding from Jane?” I ask before taking a sip.

  “Believe me, Jane’s the last person I’d hide from.” His thumb circles the lip of his beer. “I was hoping I’d have a few minutes to talk to you.”

  I straighten in my chair. “Is this where I get the hurt him and I’ll gut you speech? Because I won’t. Hurt him, I mean. I think he’s been through enough.”

  “Agreed,” Drew says, his smile softening. “But that wasn’t the speech I had in mind.” He takes a slow pull from his Corona. “Actually, I wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” I fold my hands in my lap. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You, my dear Frankie, have done everything,” he says, whispering the last word as his voice turns fragile. “Darian could almost pass as happy.”

  Hope flutters in my chest. That’s all I want for him.

  “I know he has a long way to go, but Christ, if you could have seen him before…” Drew shakes his head. “You can’t possibly know what it means to me. What it means to him.”

  “I love him.”

  “He loves you.” He scrapes at the painted label on his empty bottle. “Did he tell you I’m a grief counselor?”

  “He did. Up until an hour ago, I assumed that’s how you met.”

  “We met in college. My occupation is purely coincidental,” he says. “I wish I could have helped him. I wish I could help him. But in ten years, the only person who seems to have been able to do that is you.”

  I think we help each other.

  “Anyway,” he says, pushing off his barstool, “you have a party to get to and a best friend I have no intention of pissing off.” He grins. “Which reminds me…” He goes to the freezer and pulls out a bottle of Patrón with a white bow tied around the neck. “I’m aware that this is the worst gift ever, but what do you give the girl who gave you your best friend back?”

  I smile. “Tequila?”

  “For the record, Jane suggested it.”

  “She’s a bit of a troublemaker.”

  His eyes light up. “Yeah, I got that impression.”

  “She also knows tequila makes me relax, and she probably figured I’d need that today.” I pick up the bottle and hug it to my chest. “She would have been right, so thank you. It’s the perfect gift. But later, though, after Jacob goes to—”

  “Oh my God, Frankie! I said ten—” Jane stops abruptly when she sees Drew. Her cheeks, flushed pink from the sun, turn crimson. “Drew.”

  “Jane.”

  Lord.

  Her gaze slides to the bottle of Patrón I’m holding. “What do we have here?”

  “Birthday tequila!” I announce with enthusiasm.

  “Yay!” She claps her hands together. “I love birthday tequila!”

  “I hate birthday tequila!”

  “I know, baby,” Darian says, combing his fingers through my hair as he draws it back from my face.

  “And now you won’t give me birthday sex because I’m gross.” I hang over the edge of the toilet seat, my voice thick as it echoes beneath me. “Where’s Jane? Isn’t this her job? It’s certainly her fault.”

  “It’s my job now,” he says proudly. “And to address your first concern: no, I won’t give you birthday sex, but it isn’t because you’re gross. It’s because you don’t need to be shaken.” He presses a kiss to the top of my spine as he stands. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I saw last week’s dinner come up. I think you’re done.”

  I look back at him. “You changed,” I say, noticing his T-shirt. I squint to read the band—Queens of the Stone Age or Queensryche or Quiet Riot. Something that starts with a Q. Or an O. “Oh Jesus, please tell me I didn’t…”

  He grins as he lifts the shirt over his head, the sight of his dimple making me even woozier. “No, you didn’t. Just wanted some dry clothes.”

  Thank the birthday gods.

  I return my forehead to my folded arms, my heavy eyelids closing. I’m vaguely aware of the water turning on in the shower. Of Darian kicking off his shoes and the sound they make when they land.

  “Come on, babe.” His fingers grip my waist, and with little effort, bring me to my feet. “Time to get cleaned up.”

  I rest my cheek against his bare chest. Fuck, he smells good. “I don’t wanna. Can’t you just p
ut me to bed?”

  “You’ve been hugging the toilet for the last half hour,” he says, turning me to the sink. He hands me my toothbrush. “Just keeping the romance alive, baby.”

  After my mouth’s clean and my bikini’s discarded, Darian guides me into the shower, still dressed in his swim trunks.

  “You’re really not giving me birthday sex, are you?” I tease.

  A grin tugs at his lips as he holds me beneath the spray. “Tomorrow.”

  He grabs the loofah hanging from the faucet and fills it with my honeysuckle body wash. My eyes roll back, my head sagging against his chest as he glides it over my skin. “That feels amazing,” I say, practically purring. And to think I wanted to skip this. “Happy you took over for Jane.”

  “What? Jane never stripped you naked and gave you a shower?”

  “Only that one time.”

  His chuckle echoes off of the tiled walls as he trades the loofah for my shampoo and begins working it into my scalp.

  Dear God.

  I close my eyes. “So how is Jane? Did Drew hold her hair back?”

  “Maybe the other way around.” Darian halts his fingers. “Jane didn’t have birthday tequila.”

  My eyes snap open. “She was the ringleader! Every time I put my glass down she poured me another shot.” I hide my face in my hands. “I should have just clung to my glass.”

  “If it makes you feel better, Drew didn’t cling to his glass either.”

  “I like Drew.”

  “He likes you.”

  “He likes Jane.”

  “Yes.” Darian laughs. “I think he does.”

  “And she likes him.”

  “Guess who I like?” he says, smiling down at me as he rinses the shampoo from my hair. He turns off the faucet and wraps me in a towel. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  I put on a pair of boy shorts and the Metallica T-shirt Darian offers me. I hate Metallica, but I’m not really in any shape to protest. Chances are, I’ll throw up on it anyway.

  “Tequila aside,” he says as he tucks me into bed, “did you have a good birthday?”

  “The best. I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Well, like you kept saying, you only turn twenty-two once.” He bends to kiss my forehead. “I won’t be long.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To make sure Drew doesn’t need me to hold his hair back. Sweet dreams, birthday girl.”

  The house is still and silent when I get out of the shower—my second in only six hours. Thanks to last night’s tequila, I slept hard and rose early. My stomach’s a bit uneasy, but I only have the slight pull of a headache that I’m sure hydration and some fresh air will alleviate.

  After applying a thick layer of sunscreen, I dress in a pair of board shorts and a tank and slip into the living room. I find Jacob sitting at the island eating a leftover chocolate muffin, his mom sound asleep on the sofa bed.

  “Good morning, young Jedi,” I say quietly as I open the refrigerator and retrieve a bottle of water for me and an orange juice box for him.

  “I made breakfast,” he whispers, thrusting out his chest as I sit on the barstool beside him. He places a second muffin on a napkin and slides it over to me.

  “It looks like you did an excellent job too.” I take a long drink from my water bottle, draining half of it, and then break off a piece of my muffin. “You been up long?”

  A loud snore floats up the cellar stairs and Jacob rolls his eyes. “Ever since that started,” he tells me.

  I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Well, eat up and we’ll hit the beach.”

  “Just us?”

  His cheeks flush with excitement and it makes my chest swell.

  Jacob and I used to spend entire weekends together—just us—fishing in the creek behind my cabin, bowling at the local nine pin alley, swimming in my town’s blue hole. We hung out at least once a month—until my dad passed and I wasn’t fit to be around.

  “Just us,” I say, popping the piece of muffin into my mouth. I chase it with another swallow of water. “Did you bring the boat Darian got you? Thought we could do some practice runs before the big race tonight.”

  His eyes widen and he jumps to the floor with a loud thud. I flinch.

  “In my suitcase,” he whisper-shouts.

  “Okay,” I whisper-shout back. “Go find it. Quietly!”

  I love kids—especially that one—but I’ve never felt the pull of motherhood. Jacob’s always been enough for me. Having him to myself for whole weekends at a time was enough for me. Spoil him rotten and send him home.

  But watching him with Darian yesterday…I felt a little tug.

  The five of us sit around the table on the deck beneath an island sunset, staring at what’s left of our dinner. The breeze is soft but cool and kisses my sunburnt back.

  The guys prepared a Cajun seafood boil—shrimp, crab, sausage, corn, and potatoes—enough for ten, and flung it across a vinyl tablecloth with slabs of butter and loaves of bread.

  I take a sip of my Corona—a small one, as it’s going down slow. “I may never eat again.”

  Everyone groans in agreement, except for Jacob, who asks for dessert.

  “Come on, buddy,” Darian says, pushing away from the table. “How do you feel about Cosmic Brownies?”

  Jacob springs from his chair, then stops. “Wait…what about racing our boats?”

  “I think someone’s stalling,” I say, shooting Darian a smirk. “Someone who knows he’s going to lose.”

  Darian points to where the sun is setting. “The boats light up. It’ll be more fun when it’s dark,” he says, eliciting a grin from Jacob. “Anyone want anything? Another beer?” He cocks a brow at me. “Tequila?”

  I press my lips together and fervently shake my head.

  Drew moans. “I thought we were friends.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” Jane says, working the shell off a piece of shrimp. “Last bite, I swear.”

  I fold my hands over my full belly. “I hate wasting all this food, but I can’t do it.”

  “I think we all made valiant efforts,” Drew says, wadding up his paper towel and tossing it onto a pile of shells. Stretching his arms across the backs of two chairs, he fixes his eyes on Jane. “You mentioned on the boat that you’re a web designer, but Dare tells me you write too?”

  “Nothing of consequence,” she says, biting her lip. “But I’ve been working at it more lately.” She turns a smile toward me. “Thinking of doing a travel piece. Nothing big, just something local.”

  “Really? How did that come about?” I ask her. “You’ve always seemed to lean toward fiction.”

  “I did a design project for a Texas travel magazine and got to know one of the editors. She said they’re always looking for a fresh voice and that I should send her something.” Jane’s smile stretches. “I’m kind of excited about it. And who knows? Maybe it will inspire some fiction.”

  “Got any ideas?” Drew asks.

  “One, but I don’t know if it’ll fly.” She looks at me. “Remember how much we loved going to the ghost tracks when we were teenagers?”

  Drew sits forward. “What are ghost tracks?”

  “There’s a neighborhood in San Antonio where a train is said to have collided with a school bus,” Jane says, “but it’s an urban legend.”

  “The streets are supposedly named after the kids who died,” I add, “and when you stall your car on the tracks, the children’s ghosts will push you over.”

  Drew gives us a wary glance. “And you’ve done this…”

  I nod. “It really works, and if you put baby powder on your bumper you can even see their fingerprints.”

  “The legend was debunked,” Jane says, “but it’s still freaky. Your car will roll over the tracks, but it has more to do with gravity than the paranormal.”

  Tucking my feet beneath me, I turn to face my best friend. “So that’s what yo
u want to write about?”

  “Nah, the tracks are old news, but I’ve been doing some digging and there are similar places all over Texas. Places college kids have discovered and created their own legends for.” She reaches across the table for my neglected Corona and takes a long pull. “The editor I met says they’re after a younger market. This would fit the bill. Plus, summer’s almost here and I think it would be fun to do with Jakey.”

  “Do what with me?” Jacob asks as he rounds the side of the house with Darian on his tail. Both their boats soar high above their heads, lights flashing.

  “A road trip,” Jane says.

  Darian glances down at the beer in her hand. “Shit! Sorry, we got sidetracked with the boats.”

  “No worries,” she says. “Doubt Frankie was going to finish it.”

  I groan. “It’s all yours.”

  Once the sky turns an inky black, dotted with stars, we set off for the beach. The trail is dark and eerie, but the beach is magical, illuminated by the soft glow of a crescent moon reflecting off the water.

  I sit cross-legged in the sand, my back against a palm tree, while the guys banter about the race. After a moment, Jane sits down next to me.

  “Have enough boating fun this morning?” she asks.

  I smile. “I think it’s their time now.”

  “I’m going to miss you like crazy, you know.”

  “Me too.” I wrap my arms around her and rest my head against her shoulder. “Sure you can’t stay with me forever? They need travel writers in Florida too.”

  She hugs me then. “One day, my friend. Right now, I have Mom and Jacob to think about, but I’ve always planned to grow old beside you.” Her head falls against mine. “And that isn’t going to change just because you’re here.”

  You Make Me Real

  Amanda: We need to do something about Cross.

  Darian: You mean sic our lawyers on them?

  Amanda: That’s exactly what I mean.

  Darian: Anything new with WMN?